In a parched sunlight
An old man weeps
His rickshaw draped by shadows of trees
He broods over destiny
Over the despairing life of his.
Rickshaw is the sole partner, he shares.
Worn-out body moves so little
Empty stomach makes him frail.
Diseases make merry
Breath awaiting its destiny.
His grieving soul breaks silence as it pulls on:
"Babu, I was not made for this life,
My son in distant shores.
Mired in dollars and gloss
I am in more distance, yes afar.
Those golden days with my kid prancing by
My life was written on his playful smiles
Gave life's all to buy his joys, his mirth
That was life, all for his education.
Babu, what wrong is it that education distances?
Is it my sin for being an uneducated old?
Why these old parents lie scattered without heart? "
Words failed me, I was benumbed
How will these tears be distant in parents' eyes?
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